Missing Pieces

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksiesilk Classic Group

It’s six am. I haven’t slept. This is the first poem I’ve ever written. If you’re looking for usual booksie smut, move your ass along please. Thanks.

I miss your embrace

Crackle lung rattle in my ears

I miss your nicotine fingers

That wiped away my tears

 

I miss your surly brow

Your scowls and your stains

I miss all the things I hated

But I know you were in pain

 

I miss your wheezing laugh

Your salt and pepper hair

I miss your slight belly

And the way you stroked my hair

 

I miss the booming music

That echoed in my ears

I miss the things you taught me

But never touched on your fears

 

I miss the way we blossomed

So late, but so true

You tried to pick my brain

But I never let you

 

I miss your funny phrases

Your elaborate pantomimes

It showed me you were capable

Of happiness sometimes

 

I miss our conversations

Of those, there were few

We found that common ground

In the mind pictures we drew

 

I miss your frustrations

I now know was your way

To show me you loved me

How I wish you had stayed

 

I miss the light in your eyes

Fleeting, but true

The way your smile filled your face

The one and only you

 

I miss how you loved me

So much it hurt you

I wish I could turn back time

To help you make it through

 

Yes,

I miss all your things

The good and the bad

I will never forget you

My hero, my dad








 


Submitted: July 14, 2020

© Copyright 2021 Megan Mackenzie. All rights reserved.

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Comments

Amy F. Turner

This was so sweet and loving as we all would wish to have a dad we could miss this much. Thank you for sharing a beautiful poem.

Tue, July 14th, 2020 1:32pm

benawriter

A wonderful tribute to an obviously very loved father. It's a shame that all to late in life we sometimes finally get to "meet" and know a parent and consequently miss him/her even more when they are gone. Warm condolences for your loss.

Tue, July 14th, 2020 1:38pm

DampKitten

Really amazing, Megan.
I think sorrow motivates poetry more than any other emotion.
I'm so glad you spent time doing this. I'm sure he was reading as you wrote.
Three stanza from the bottom, change smiled to smile

After reading this piece, I feel like I've met him...

Wed, July 15th, 2020 2:19am

Spyguy

An apt recognition, an honor bestowed, an awkward position, by age, bent & bowed!
He’s left you, you say, though in body, no more; Reality walked through just other door!
When join him, you do, in your proper time; All pain/stress/& worry, forgotten sublime!
To greet you he’ll rush, like big city bus... Picking you up, & swing you I trust!
Then he’ll explain, & probably cry: All of your hurts, with tears in his eye!!!

Wed, July 15th, 2020 10:00am

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